Defeat the Danger
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: HGBL/Bellamione: Hermione freed the eldest Black sister from the Order's captivity, but a move like that doesn't come without repercussions. Unfortunately, those repercussions might be more drastic than either side of the war could have accounted for. Canon through MOST of 5th year; after that I take bits and pieces from the books/movies as they suit me.
1. Discover the Darkness

_Author's Note:_ Firstly, to those of you perhaps reading my other stories, I'm sorry. I'm having computer troubles (and at times I am without one entirely) and I'm too engaged in those stories to offer half-assed attempts at updates, but I simply do not possess the ability _not_ to write if I am capable. I've been reading much more lately and dipping back into the Harry Potter realm of fanfiction, so thoughts on the subject have been plaguing me; I'm redirecting my efforts here until I can be sure that I will be able to post on my other stories with relative frequency. Secondly, this story will be written if and when I have the chance to update. Given my computer complications, I promise nothing, but I _hope _to have the issue resolved soon. Thirdly, all of that being said, this is my first foray back into the HP-verse in quite some time, so I may be a bit off-base on some things, and for that I apologize. If you catch any mistakes or feel that the characters are morbidly OOC, please let me know and I will do my best to make the appropriate changes to my writing when I can. Review and let me know if this is something you'd like to see more of.

* * *

Hermione awoke suddenly.

There had been a dream – something awful and heart wrenching and filled with agony – but beyond that Hermione could remember very little. She panted, curling a fist around the swatch of fabric that covered her heart as its rhythm ratcheted beyond her control. Hermione waited for some time, but the harsh beat of the organ never calmed with her progression from sleepiness.

Something was happening. Hermione didn't know what, and the more mystical aspects of magic had always been inflicted upon Harry far more than she, so she was quite foreign to the feeling, but somewhere, in her bones and her blood and her heart, Hermione knew that something was happening. And whatever that something was, it was affecting her deeply.

She tossed the covers from her body with vigor, feeling abruptly some sense of urgency that she had little clue what to do with. There was somewhere she needed to be, or something that she needed to be doing – Hermione could _feel _it – but she had not even the faintest idea of where her feet were leading her when she sneaked out from the bedroom she shared with Ginny at Grimmauld Place.

Had she known where she'd end up, perhaps Hermione might have had the sense to stay put. Later, though, Hermione would realize that she'd never had that choice.

She descended the steps as swiftly as she could while remaining unnoticed, but it quickly became clear that her suspicions had been correct. Something _was_ happening, and the bustling of people and raised voices that greeted her as soon as she'd padded through the silencing wards at the bottom of the stairs only served to prove it.

Despite their lack of knowledge about the Order, Hermione had been spending a great deal of time around the organizations' members for the last two years. Though she was slated to join in a months' time, Hermione was no fool; so few of them actually supported her decision that she would likely still be kept in some degree of darkness, even if not quite the same amount as she was exposed to now.

She knew better than to ask about what was happening, because she would receive no answers – only a hasty escort back to her room.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes; she was legally of age, now, and only the technicalities harped upon by the Weasley matriarch and all of her sympathizers kept her from being introduced to the Order properly. Though her use of the time turner in her third year had certainly not been extensive enough to age her much, she'd traveled about four hours back every weekday for the nine months' worth of term. Some calculations had determined that Hermione was nearly thirty days older than she should be, which meant that now – entering Hogwarts as a seventh year in just a week – Hermione could perform magic without the trace, and was also fully capable of Apparition.

The Ministry, having issued the time turner to begin with, had been well aware of the alteration to her age and had submitted her for licensing.

Reminding herself that she was fully of age now encouraged Hermione to cast a disillusionment charm quickly paired with a notice-me-not that would hopefully keep her presence undetected. Most of the Order appeared either enraged or exhausted (with Dumbledore and McGonagall topping the list of the latter, and Mrs. Weasley fueling the former), but whatever Hermione needed, she knew it wasn't here.

She frowned to herself, disliking with a severe intensity the skin-crawling feeling of discomfort that washed over her in that moment, before she very quietly (and without thought) Apparated away.

Hermione told herself that it was sheer, rotten luck that she hadn't been splinched in the process, as she was still fairly new to Apparition and had very little experience with the mode of travel. In addition, she'd had positively _no_ destination in mind at all. Her arrival in one piece was nothing short of miraculous, as far as she was concerned, but her relief of discovering all of her limbs intact was short-lived.

Heart still racing and fighting furiously against some unseen force, Hermione felt compelled to turn around. She knew that she was precisely where she needed to be, now, and the magic thrumming through her veins confirmed it, but _why?_

She didn't have to wonder much longer.

The young witch had about five seconds to surmise that she was still ensconced within the protection of Grimmauld Place's wards, but beyond that she scarcely recognized the room she was in. It made little sense, considering she'd been through the entire house more than once over during their attempts to clean it two summers before, but nothing about this room seemed familiar. It was covered in an anti-Apparition ward strong enough to rival that of Hogwarts', so in place of her confusion about the location, Hermione was utterly stumped on how she'd even arrived to it.

A wail of distress interrupted Hermione's exploration, startling her into whipping around, wand drawn on the impossible (but breathtaking) sight of Bellatrix Black magic-bound and curled in a corner, beaten and bloody and raw.

"A _mudblood_ in my ancestors' home!" The woman screeched furiously, thrashing on the floor against the magic that held her captive. "How _low_ my cousin has sunk!"

Hermione swallowed and blinked her surprise, but did not gasp and did not lower her wand. Instead, for reasons that the brilliant witch simply could not_ begin_ to fathom, Hermione dropped to her knees and used her outstretched wand to try healing the mad Azkaban escapee.

"What are you doing?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes suspiciously, the growl from her chest issuing a well-received warning to the muggleborn who dared to approach her.

Hermione couldn't answer, because she had no bloody clue. The witch had done nothing to Hermione's knowledge but cause mayhem and destruction her entire life, and over the last couple of years both Kingsley and Tonks had been subjected to the crazy Death Eater's powerful Cruciatus, with only Tonks escaping with her life.

Still, Hermione's heart hammered and her blood boiled with a rage that she couldn't understand, because – for unidentifiable reasons – she wasn't angry at seeing the witch.

Hermione was angry at what had been done to her.

Bellatrix bared her teeth in threat to the muggleborn, but Hermione offered a small shake of her head, softly murmuring, "Let me help."

"I need nothing from you," Bellatrix snapped, even as her eyes flickered with vulnerability and confusion. "Take your filthy hands off me, mudblood."

"Let me help," Hermione repeated softly, wand limply waiting between loose fingers as Hermione sought the older brunette's permission.

She wouldn't use her wand if the older witch was so against it – Hermione wasn't stupid; she wouldn't sign herself up for Bellatrix's fury, even if she _was_ currently bound and being detained by the Order – but the eldest Black sister was not in good shape. If the finger-shaped smudges of purple around her neck were any indication, someone from the Order had given into a fit of personal rage against Bellatrix. Bruises of alarming magnitude surrounded her dark, lovely eyes, and a large gash swiped the length of the woman's jaw. Blood also poured from a wound in her temple, and, though it was hard to tell through the darkness of her robes, Hermione was pretty sure that her torso was sticky with the same substance. The smell of copper flooded the room, and Hermione swallowed again to stable her senses against it, with no success.

The scent was as intoxicating as it was foul, and Hermione couldn't wrap her head around any of it. A soft haze had corrupted her mind, and Hermione vaguely wondered if this was a trick; a ploy, somehow, for some purpose that she couldn't see. Still, if the bewilderment plastered over Bellatrix's face was anything to trust at all, the woman was as lost in this as Hermione felt to be.

"Why?" Bellatrix snarled. "Why would _you_ help _me_, little witch? Dumbledore put you up to it? Hm?" The prisoner speculated. "Did he put you in here with the big bad to play me for information?" She cooed, snapping her face forward close to Hermione's, so that Hermione could smell the danger and allure of the Death Eater whether she wanted to or not.

Hermione suppressed the shiver. She shouldn't be here and she was sure that she knew that, but everything in her forced her to stay. Drawing the scent of the dark witch in with a heavy breath, Hermione tried to steady herself against the magic pulling inside of her and the burst of arousal that threatened to emerge.

"I've got news for you, mudblood," Bellatrix purred, lips brushing against Hermione's ear and cheek whispering against the young witch's own, even as her magical restraints kept her hands bound to her lower back, "I've no intentions of betraying my Lord, no matter how you wield that wand of yours."

Hermione shook her head again, desperate, now, to heal the woman, even if she couldn't for the life of her discern why.

"I don't care about your bloody Lord," Hermione murmured, lowering her wand in the single, most foolish move she could have possibly conceived, allowing the stick of wood to clatter against the hardwood floor as a gesture of good will.

Dazedly, Hermione's hand rose to the gaping wound at the dark witch's temple, moving her fingers across it.

Bellatrix hissed and whelped in pain. Hermione closed her eyes and released a soft sob of sympathy – the kind of which Hermione had never felt – as her fingertips dusted across the length of the injury. With her eyes still shut, Hermione couldn't see the laceration knitting itself together beneath the gentleness of her touch, but Bellatrix could feel it.

Though she was bloodthirsty and psychologically scarred in more ways than just a few, Bellatrix Black was a powerful, intellectual witch. She was gifted in the Dark Arts and more so in destruction, and therefore thrived in wartime. She'd seen a great many things in her life, and she felt more deeply than most would think her capable.

But never in her life had she felt the sort of warmth that the mudblood witch's magic provided as it hummed throughout her body. Bellatrix's own magic thrilled at its presence, chasing after the wisps of golden light that seeped within her skin and throughout her lithe body, healing wounds the girl had yet to even see.

What magic was this?

Bellatrix frowned and cocked her head to the side, feeling invigorated but calm in a way she'd never experienced, even before the tortures of Azkaban.

"What have you done to me?" She whispered, locking her eyes into deep, golden brown pools welling with emotion that Bella felt, too, but couldn't comprehend.

Hermione's brows furrowed with the confusion of Bellatrix's healed wounds. Her eyes flitted to her wand at the floor, and she shook her head again, this time in resignation more than anything else.

"I don't know," she whispered in return, daringly leaning her forehead into the dark witch's for support she (rationally) knew would not be offered.

Startling them both, Bellatrix allowed the movement. It occurred to her that she could, without much trouble, at least head butt the foolish girl, but she withheld, finding as much comfort in the gesture as the young witch did, if not more.

"Why are you here?" Hermione rasped unstably. "Why have they taken you?"

A bubble of Bellatrix's madness revealed itself as she cackled, and though the noise was intimidating and fearsome and entirely lacking in _sanity_, Hermione merely dropped her head to the older woman's shoulder with a soft sigh of displeasure as she awaited an answer.

"_Why, why, why?_" Bellatrix simpered mockingly. "Because I've killed their families!" She exclaimed gleefully. "Because I've served my Lord with honor!"

Part of Hermione wanted to flinch, but another part – an overwhelming part, in truth – knew that despite the lunacy, Bellatrix had answered her question with as much honesty as the Black sister was capable of, and Hermione appreciated that despite herself.

Nodding decisively, Hermione loped to her feet with grace that Bellatrix did not realize was in her possession and snatched her wand from the floor.

"Right," Hermione said, glancing down at the witch with determination lit in her eyes and defining the set of her jaw. "We have to get you out of here."


	2. Examine the Profit

This was a terrible idea. Hermione had done a number of foolish things in the past – most notably during her time at Hogwarts – but sneaking Bellatrix Black out of Order Headquarters for reasons even Hermione herself could not fathom _truly_ topped the list of terrible ideas.

Worse, Hermione had no clue which part of the morbid home they were even _in_, so she was metaphorically flying blind as far as their escape was concerned. She knew, however, that the pair couldn't dare attempt to break the anti-Apparition ward. Hermione had heard horror stories of witches and wizards attempting to break such boundaries, and oftentimes they wound up beheaded or splinched, quite literally, in half – either horizontally or vertically.

Hermione shot that notion down _very_ quickly.

Still, this didn't exactly seem much brighter, she thought wryly, slowly and carefully working her way through the process of breaking down the wards on the door, cautious not to trip any of them in the process. Without a wand, Bellatrix would've had no chance, no matter how powerful her wandless magic might have been or how hastily Dumbledore had applied the wards. Hermione struggled through Dumbledore's sloppy work even with a wand, truthfully, and she excelled in Charms more than most other subjects.

Bellatrix remained uncharacteristically silent, but Hermione could feel the burn of her gaze at the back of her head. She was sure that the older witch had a plethora of questions, but Hermione could answer exactly none of them.

All she knew was that her heart ached with the desperation she felt to keep the dark woman from further harm. Temporarily (and because she had very little choice), Hermione was ignoring that they were on opposite sides of this ridiculous and painful war. It hardly even seemed relevant to Hermione, outside of the strict and pounding fear within that chanted _'don't get caught_' over and over against the inner walls of her mind.

A soft hum of triumph rose from Hermione's chest as the last of the wards fell beneath her steady hand.

"Right, then," Hermione breathed, realizing once more that the wards, in all truth, were probably the easy part in all of this. "I'm going to have a look around and find out where we are."

"Where we are?" Bellatrix giggled manically. "Why, we're in the basement, mudblood. My most beloved uncle used these rooms for punishment!"

"Punish- No," Hermione shook her head. "We don't have time for a story. Alright, so if you know the house, what's out there?" Hermione asked, gesturing toward the door with a motion of her hand.

"Traps, most likely," Bellatrix offered an unconcerned shrug and shifted up to her knees, hands still positioned behind her back. "Having second thoughts, love?" She simpered dauntingly.

Hermione frowned. Second thoughts would be entirely rational, given the impulsiveness of her decision and the utter madness of its concept to begin with, but she, unfortunately, could not claim to have spared a doubt. This was the right thing to do, Hermione was sure of it.

She just wasn't exactly sure whom it was the right thing _for_.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head and motioned to the bound witch with her wand, eyeing her with a dubious gaze.

"If I release you," Hermione treaded warily, "how quickly will I found myself incapacitated, or otherwise harmed?"

"Well, it wouldn't make much sense to attack my _rescuer_, would it?" Bellatrix said, wicked grin splitting across her face even as her tone expressed only sound reason and a promise for safety.

"Which is all well and good," Hermione nodded, kneeling down to face the more experienced witch, "but I'm not so stupid as you might think. You hate me, and all others of my- _kind_," Hermione bit out reluctantly, sighing heavily as even the reminder of who this witch was and just what she believed still failed to shake Hermione's resolve to see the woman out of this damn house. "I'm a fairly gifted witch, I know, but even without a wand, I'm not certain that you couldn't best me. So I'm _asking_," Hermione implored softly, giving in to the inexplicable urge to stroke her fingers along the delicate edge of the other woman's jaw, "if I can trust your word, Bellatrix. I'm asking," she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet the glittering, confused orbs of Bellatrix Black, "if – for tonight, at least – I can rely on you to _watch_ my back, instead of hex it."

Bellatrix masked her surprise, but she wasn't sure that she'd managed to cover it all. This little witch – _mudblood_, her mind thoughtlessly corrected – was risking quite a bit. She was, essentially, risking _everything_, in fact.

And for what?

The eldest Black sister was certain that something was awry. Her luck had never been this good. _Never_. And yet, no being alive with insincere intentions would dare crossing Albus Dumbledore _or_ his infuriatingly powerful wards. As it was, Bellatrix was impressed that the Granger girl had managed to break through them at all, let alone as seamlessly as she had done.

So what was it, exactly, that Hermione Granger wanted of her?

It didn't matter, Bellatrix decided. It was a question for another time, surely, but wherever Granger led her couldn't possibly be any worse, could it?

Bellatrix was familiar with torture. She could inflict it with the best of them, and she quite enjoyed it, too – the power of it, and the purpose it served. But she'd been on the receiving end of torture all her life, beginning with her parents and ending with her Lord. As far as Bellatrix Black was concerned, torture was as essential to life as breathing.

Honestly, how else could one learn what was and was not acceptable behavior? She scoffed at the notion of good will and sneered at generosity, especially when directed at children. It was such a terrible way to teach the young about the ways of the world, because the world simply did not function that way.

People were greedy, and valued self-preservation. Others could not be relied upon to extend good will without reward, and generosity always served a purpose for the benefactor.

If nothing else, her capture and subsequent torture at the hand of the Order had enforced this. Where was Sirius' good will, when he was shoving her into the wall with his fingers curled around her throat? Where was Dumbledore's generosity when bounding and confining her to this dingy, well-worn and dusty punishment chamber with no way to heal her own wounds?

Absent.

And yet… This witch. This witch was clever (despite that Bella cringed even upon thinking it, she refused to underestimate the girl), and had sought nothing from her (yet). This witch had sought only to heal her, to help her escape. To help.

_This_ witch was _nothing_ of how the world worked, that much was quite evident. Did she not know that the consequences of this would rain down upon her for the rest of her natural-born life? Did Hermione Granger understand that she could effectively be banished from her home, and ostracized from everyone she named her friends and family?

Bellatrix wasn't underestimating her, but she found it incredibly difficult to believe that the girl had considered all of this and still elected to release a known Death Eater from incarceration.

Because the world simply did not _work_ that way.

Regardless, Bellatrix would be a fool not to capitalize on the young witch's lack of foresight. Though torture was part and parcel of her role in the Dark Lord's army, she _chose_ him as her Lord; she chose to allow him the authority to punish her as he saw fit. She'd never had that as a child, and often found her parents' rules inane and unworthy of following, and the subsequent punishments ineffective. The Dark Lord, though – Bellatrix understood _his_ rules, and agreed with them. Once breached, punishment was well earned, as far as Bellatrix was concerned.

Being tortured by the Order for information she would never betray was not Bellatrix's choice, nor was it her idea of a good time. It was humiliating and amateur. She unconsciously pouted at all the things she could have done to _them_, had their positions been reversed. They weren't even _creative_ in their methods, she sniffed disdainfully. Just mindlessly inflicting pain and hoping it worked out for the best.

If one was to commit to torture, Bellatrix believed, then they had best commit _properly_.

If the mudblood could provide means for an escape, Bellatrix could humor her. And if it happened to isolate the 'brains' of the impudent, always-underfoot, scheming _Golden Trio_, then that would be all the better. Though she faced retribution for her idiocy in being captured at all, her Lord would be pleased. If Hermione Granger was not around Potter to provide guidance and intelligence that the boy _clearly_ had no respect or affinity for, Bellatrix curled her lip in disgust, then Potter would be a far more accessible (and conquerable) target.

Hermione watched Bellatrix's eyes as they vaulted across her face, first searching for motive before glazing over with the activity within her mind. Each expression flitted by almost too quickly for Hermione to catch it, but without knowing the cause for the pout that eventually jutted out the witch's full lower lip, Hermione thought it- _adorable_.

Ridiculous, she scoffed to herself.

This entire bloody thing was ridiculous, and yet, with her fingers still smoothing over that elegant jaw, Hermione only anxiously awaited a reply.

"For tonight," Bellatrix eventually purred, dipping just that two inches forward to caper the words across Hermione's mouth, "I would promise you the world, mudblood, if it meant my release."

For reasons unknown, Hermione's breath staggered. She drew in a sharp pull of air and at once felt relief, but also a burning desire for more of- _something_. Something she couldn't put her finger on, but that radiated from Bellatrix Black in rolls of heady, intoxicating waves.

Hermione wanted to drown in them.

Bellatrix was not unaffected, but even with her vast knowledge of the wizarding world, she could not name that unquenchable feeling that arose within. Whatever magic this mudblood possessed, Bellatrix could only be grateful that the young witch clearly understood it even less than Bella did, and that despite it, she was still in control of all her mental faculties.

Still, Bella told herself, she'd best be careful around the little witch until she had some answers.

Because, she realized, all that Hermione Granger had posed this night had been questions upon questions that Bella could not answer and could not ask.

"Alright then," Hermione murmured, offhandedly waving her wand as if she had not just restored some semblance of power to an infamously feared witch with the same blasé action. "Talk me through the basement layout, and we'll see about where we go from there. Okay?"

Wiggling her fingers and rotating her wrists, Bellatrix offered the smirk trademark of Slytherin house, licked her lips, and cooed, "Such a bright girl given no information…" She tutted softly. "What a waste."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked cautiously, wand still extended but lowered to rest vertically against her thigh as a silent vow to reciprocate Bella's promise.

"Ohh, muddy," Bellatrix cackled delightedly, "the _things_ I could do to you in my dungeon would positively _pale_ in comparison to this… mockery," Bellatrix gestured around the room with a grimace of distaste.

"Then," Hermione cleared her throat softly, "from my perspective, Bellatrix, it's actually quite a good thing that I don't know anything about the Order, isn't it?"

Bellatrix crawled an inch closer – the last inch, in fact. The last inch separating her lithe, supple frame from Hermione's, breasts softly pushing into the younger brunette's with undisclosed intent. She swiped her tongue across her own lips once more, ghosting only just slightly against Hermione's in the process, and both women quaked at the raw sensuality of this moment, knelt on the floor and pushed together in some basement room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with tentative, vowed promises to keep one another safe – just for one night.

"I assure you, darling filth," Bellatrix murmured, tone caught somewhere between inexplicable affection and the entirely expected derision that came so naturally to her, "there are a number of ways to coax a woman into sharing – and not all of them are quite this crass. You would _beg me_ to allow you to speak, if only I pledged to honor you with… just a little… _something_ in return," she leered softly.

And then, she covered the mudblood's mouth with her own, hating herself for the thrum and thump and pulse of magic within as the little witch moaned into her lips.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I hope you guys enjoyed this. I've some idea of where I'd like this to go, but this pairing (and Bellatrix's character in general, honestly) are pretty new to me, so I hope I'm doing them justice. Let me know if anything seems OOC or unlikely to you. Feel free to let me know what you think!


	3. Damn the Consequences

Hermione released a soft groan of pain as her foot sank beneath the floorboards, her ankle twisting further and further each time she tried to move it.

Though Bellatrix's knowledge about the house offered them guidance and hope for a way out, even the elder witch couldn't predict what kind of traps had been set here. Hermione couldn't be sure how many of these 'traps' in Grimmauld Place's cellar could be attributed to the Order. Some of the wards felt forebodingly evil, and although Hermione knew that even the 'good' guys could _perform_ dark magic, the smell of it seemed altogether _too_ dark for a witch or wizard to have feigned. Some of the curses and hexes that she and Bellatrix had thus far avoided would not have been sanctioned by the Order, anyway; despite that Severus Snape could easily have erected them, Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed it.

Hermione suspected that whoever had raised these particular wards had dabbled quite deeply with the Dark Arts.

Her suspicions were confirmed when, a moment later, Bellatrix growled and hissed spitefully, "Damn you, Uncle. These protections are nothing but an irritating _nuisance_," she bit caustically.

So it had been the magic of Sirius' father, Hermione nodded to herself as she flicked her wand with a simple _finite_ and felt the relief of pressure easing off from her foot. Though the rest of the house (at least to Hermione's knowledge) had been swept and subsequently cleared of all foreign magic, it appeared that these particular rooms – _cells_, really, Hermione clamped down on her tongue with her teeth and frowned – had been exempted. Evidently, the Order either hadn't bothered to remove the added security or they used these rooms infrequently enough that it had never quite occurred to them.

Curiously enough, however, Hermione had thought something similar about the wards. They were quick, and painful, but never severely damaging. A stinging hex had caught her by surprise several minutes ago, and Bellatrix's arm had been sliced open in several gashes along her bicep by one of the bronze sconces on the wall, which had been transfigured and charmed to swipe relentlessly at any passersby who stumbled too closely against the edges of the wall.

Still, though irritating and weakening, none of the injuries that they had sustained (or, in some cases, avoided) had been lethal or debilitating.

Hermione glanced down the length of the hall and frowned. They should've at least hit a corner, by now, but they'd been travelling a straight path since they'd snuck from Bellatrix's assigned room and, looking backward, Hermione realized that the door just behind her on her left looked suspiciously similar to the same one that had housed Bella to begin with.

"It's an illusion," Hermione murmured, half in aggravation, half in awe. "Look," she instructed the now-attentive Bellatrix, eyeing the young Gryffindor with a rather intimidating composite of skepticism and intrigue. "This is the door to the room they bound you in," she whispered urgently, eyes darting attentively across the hall. "These spells were never intended to seriously harm – they're only designed to delay us from realizing we've hardly moved."

Bellatrix snarled abruptly and fisted her fingers in her own hair, pacing three steps along the center of the corridor and then back again.

Hermione stared, captivated by the strange amalgamation of madness, brilliance, and raw, abandoned power. The Hogwarts student could almost hear Bellatrix's magic snapping and roiling through the stretch of air between them.

Her lips burned with the memory of a kiss, and Hermione's hand absently rose to touch her mouth as her opposite hand hugged around her own torso for comfort in a world that, by the evening's events, felt hugely shaken and disturbed.

She'd tried very hard not to think of that moment, really. But – despite that Hermione was quite adept at compartmentalization when necessary – the task was nearly an impossible one. Hermione had _thoroughly_ enjoyed that kiss, and as a result felt something akin to shame for having acted in response to it.

Still, though, the thought of Bellatrix's full lips possibly devouring her own once more made Hermione tremble from her toes on up.

The first kiss they'd shared had been hot and dominating and wild, Bellatrix stripping Hermione's defenses raw even without meaning to. Hermione's magic had danced with Bellatrix's, in that moment, and the feeling had been heady, dizzying, and not a little intoxicating.

"Then they know I've attempted escape!" Bellatrix sneered. "The wards in this corridor are a bloody _stalling tactic_," she hissed violently. "They're meant to distract us long enough to be detained, once more."

Hermione blinked and eyed the hallway again, before she roughly assembled all the pieces of herself into the composure she was known for in dangerous situations.

"Well, that won't do," she shook her head and lifted her wand.

In spite of the fact that she had little clear idea as to _why_, Hermione raised the instrument to the door on her left and murmured an Evaluation spell. The way the door lit, first with a deep silver glow that shimmered from the base up to the top, then with a startlingly vivid red – a red the color of blood, Hermione shivered upon realizing – indicated that her instinct to test the door for magic had led her well.

Hermione could interpret the patterns that emerged with relative ease, after all of the extra-curriculum work she'd performed for Ancient Runes, but these symbols came together to form a rather difficult set of protections.

"Runes, then," Bellatrix sighed, aggravated, with a nod. "Orion always did prefer them."

"Yes," Hermione murmured absently, stroking her fingers delicately across a particularly concerning symbol. "But this one here," Hermione tapped it with her index finger, "will prove rather tricky if not handled properly."

"Tricky," Bellatrix echoed slowly, brows dipping downward in an expression of confusion so clearly genuine that Hermione had to battle down an entirely inappropriate giggle, and an even more inappropriate coo.

Only, Bellatrix looked so… _sweet _that way, Hermione realized with a bemused half-smile flickering at the edges of her mouth. She hardly believed that Bellatrix would take kindly to the observation, but Hermione found her mesmerizing like this – mesmerizing in that Hermione could see the glimpses of the personality that lay beneath the insanity, and Hermione knew that few were granted the opportunity to witness Bellatrix Black with this level of closeness.

Hermione shook the fog from her mind, knowing that they really hadn't the time for her deepening and unfounded feelings for the dark witch, and she nodded her confirmation.

"Yes," Hermione said. "The red bit that glowed – that's the magic that more or less creates the room you were placed in," she mused aloud. "The silver, if I'm correct, leads elsewhere."

"_Where_, mudblood?" Bellatrix demanded roughly.

"Escape, I'd imagine," Hermione replied pensively. "Think about it. Even after a prisoner's dared to escape your Uncle's- _punishment_ chambers," she ground out uneasily, "the very last place they'd search for an exit would be through the exact door they've just emerged from, right?"

Bellatrix contemplated that theory for a moment, before absentmindedly offering a nod. "But how can we access the exit door instead of the door to the cell?" She paced again, her mind frantically working toward a solution.

Hermione bit her lip and sighed to herself.

This was a truly terrible idea, but what choice did she have?

"There's dark magic on this door," she murmured quietly, averting her eyes to the endless length of corridor before them. "While I know, theoretically, the spells and runes necessary to reverse the door's properties, those are rather dark bits of magic, as well. I- I'm not certain that I have the capacity to cast them properly on the first try. I struggle with darker spells, you see," Hermione babbled nervously. "It isn't that I don't possess the will, merely that my magic doesn't- abide well to darkness, I suppose you could say."

"So you shan't even try, muddy?" Bellatrix taunted, a daring look swirling with fury at the corners of her eyes as they narrowed.

Hermione smiled grimly and shook her head, seriously doubting her own challenged sanity as she stroked her fingers along the length of her wand. She then took up the offensive end of it, offering the handle to Bellatrix Black.

"Are you mad, girl, or merely stupid?" Bellatrix mused, breathless with wonder and vibrating with sincere anticipation.

"I am neither," Hermione bristled, hand still holding steady even as she felt her heart tripping over itself in anxiety with the knowledge that this was, among all the other idiotic things she'd done this evening, the absolute most dangerous. "And if anyone in this bloody cellar is to be accused of madness," she snapped pointedly, eyeing Bellatrix with a deeply penetrating gaze that made even the Black sister shuffle with discomfort, "it certainly would not be me, Bellatrix.

"Besides," Hermione continued with a huff, "whether you'd like to admit it or not, you need me to get out of here. Not only are you clearly unversed in Ancient Runes – judging by your reaction to the symbols on the door – you also can't truly hope to Apparate in your condition with a wand that is not your own. You're healed, yes," and Hermione staunchly tried to ignore how that had happened, electing to consult her books for research at a later time when she could afford to do so, "but you're still weak, and – "

"I," Bellatrix abruptly purred in a soft, threatening tone as she stepped closer to Hermione, pushing past her outstretched wand in favor of seductively slithering up the front of Hermione's body, "am not," she continued, whispering the words against Hermione's mouth as dark, dark eyes glittered into Hermione's own, "_weak_, mudblood."

"Perhaps," Hermione breathed, lowering her head in aberrant submission and respect, "I misspoke. Perhaps you are not weak, Bellatrix," she murmured softly, hand rising to curl through the fabric of the older witch's torn robes, barely feeling the drying blood against her palm. "But," she frowned as Bellatrix's lip curled into a derisive sneer, "your _body_ is weak, Bella," she insisted. "Your body is weak, even if your magic and character are not, and to Apparate under such circumstances would mean more danger for you than the members of the Order could dare provide. You need me," she repeated softly, feeling a tender expression overcome her features as Bellatrix huffed, breathing the gust of air against Hermione's lips.

Bellatrix, though positively _loath_ to admit such to the young, devilish witch, knew that Granger was right. While her magic may thrum stronger than ever through her veins – and it did, though Bellatrix had yet to determine the cause beyond that this little Gryffindor had powered it, somehow – her body was not in a condition that came recommended to an Apparitioner. Under normal circumstances, Bella would scoff and Apparate despite the exhaustion of her physical form – but she was lacking her wand. No matter how well or poorly Hermione Granger's wand might respond to her, it was, indeed, not _her_ wand.

Her wand, which had been keyed, over time, to her magic and instincts and not to the will of her body.

Another's wand, while fairly effective, in most cases, would not know which part of her will to bend to – that of her mind and magic, or that of her body, which screamed and thrashed within, demanding for rest.

"Then what might you suggest," Bellatrix asked, in a low voice that teemed with seduction and power as her own palm rose to coil a fistful of the dark, wild ringlets spilling from the base of Hermione's skull, roughly twisting the locks of hair between her fingers and using her hold to arch the young witch's neck backward, "my little Gryffindor?" She finished, breathily lathering the words into the young witch's jaw and scraping her lips across the delectable flesh now accessible to her.

Hermione inhaled sharply and tried to collect her thoughts as her wand arm fell along her side. Bellatrix's proximity and her seemingly unfailing ability to drive Hermione mad with her lips and touch and voice, however, made that task exceedingly difficult. The deep breath had helped, but, in a way, it sort of hurt, as well.

Her senses heightened even as her need increased, though Hermione knew not exactly what it was that she needed for. She felt aware – and _alive –_ in a way she'd never experienced before, but she felt, in that moment, more intensely aware of Bellatrix Black and the way that her odd seductions were affecting her more than anything else, despite the precarious nature of their circumstances. Her magic pulsed within, causing her heart to hammer in answer, like some otherworldly adrenaline rush that knew very few bounds, but it was unfocused and untrained.

Hermione was baffled by what was happening to her – to _them_, it seemed, as Bellatrix's mouth crept into a coy, knowing smirk of pleasure triggered by Hermione's reactions to her – but now wasn't the time to investigate such things.

Even if Bellatrix's spare hand had now slipped beneath the open center of her robes, only to push her luck and worm under the hem of the t-shirt she wore as well. Even if the older witch's fingers lit tiny flames across her hip that spread readily up her side and sunk deep into her core.

Now was not the time.

They were in peril – or very soon would be, at any rate – and now was the time for action.

"I suggest," Hermione eventually husked, "that if you have any interest in self-preservation, you take my wand and do as I say, Bellatrix. We must assume that there were," Hermione broke off momentarily, panting as Bella's tongue licked an unhindered line from shoulder to jaw, "_spells_," Hermione choked out. "Alarms to alert Dumbledore and the others, should you exit the room," she swallowed convulsively as Bellatrix offered nothing but a thoughtful hum that rumbled across her flesh. "_Bellatrix,_" she finally insisted, "you are in _danger_. This…" She shook her head. "Whatever else might be happening, here – and I know you can feel it, too," Hermione added pointedly, "we must prioritize. And right now," Hermione pulled the ominous witch closer by the swatch of fabric she'd nearly forgotten was still closed within her fist, "your safety has to be our priority. Do you understand?" She finished gently, unsure how, but evidently correctly assuming that the harsh nip against her ear had been intended as a gesture of displeasure.

"I've survived far worse than this, sweet mud," Bellatrix replied, defiance laced in both her voice and her persistent actions.

"Perhaps," Hermione nodded, knowing that it was true – for Azkaban, at least, was much, much worse than this, under any circumstance. "But I'd rather not make it any more difficult for ourselves if it isn't necessary. We're running out of time," she whispered, her voice pained.

Because, despite that she, too, had questions, she could store them away within her mind for the time being. But if something happened to either one of them because of her inability to squelch her mind's curiosity or her body's unclear desires, Hermione would never forgive herself.

Insistently, Hermione shifted her limp arm just enough to softly prod the handle of her wand between Bellatrix's hand and her hip.

"Take it," Hermione pleaded on a whisper. "Take it, and maybe I can keep you safe tonight," she murmured, ducking her eyes away and twisting the cloth in her hand with each and every one of her nerves lit with determination.

Even without knowing the cause, Hermione was quite well aware of the fact that desperate now seemed a term too light to associate with her present feelings.

Though she was fraught with the fear of what the repercussions of this could be, more than that – and more overwhelming, by far – was the terror she felt at the notion that something horrid and brutal very well _could_ happen to Bellatrix, if they failed to work both quickly and carefully enough to succeed.

And Hermione couldn't let anything happen to Bellatrix.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I'm so, so pleased that you guys seem to be enjoying the story thus far. I hope I've managed to further intrigue you with this chapter. Send me a review and let me know your thoughts and feelings, if you feel so inclined. Thanks, readers!


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